by Crowe, Liz
“No, no, not necessary.” Jack insisted. “Really. I know you’re at a crucial point with the restaurant.”
“Fuck the restaurant, man, this is our friend.” He ran a hand down his face, relief and simultaneous guilt coursing through his blood stream.
“Listen, between me and Adams and her, ah, boyfriend, the brewer, we’ve got this. But I tell you it is one crazy fucked-up mess, no doubt. Not sure how she’ll resolve it but you know Suzanne. She always lands on her feet somehow. I gotta go. Houses to sell.”
“I know. Good to talk to you. Even though it’s about this.”
Jack laughed but it was an ugly sound, making Rob wince. “Yeah. You too. See you around.”
Rob sat for another hour, watching the city come to life below him, contemplating what a shitty friend he was. His self-preservation reflex had kicked in after Jack’s father’s funeral. He’d headed back to Chicago determined to make a go of the restaurant, to outlive the asshole chef’s abuse and prove to the owners he was better. He had done all of that and more. After a year they’d fired the jerk in a flurry of expletives and thinly veiled threats of lawsuits. Rob had been installed in his place as head chef.
He’d effectively cut himself off from everything, including Kyle, which hurt more than he would admit. He had taken the hostess girl up on her repeated offers; they’d settled into a decent rhythm of friendly sex. Nothing special, at least not for him. She claimed the same. Rob held his heart aloof as much as he could. He found a soccer team to play with on a regular basis, went on long runs along Lake Michigan and kept his mind free and clear of anything resembling an emotional connection. It was good—mostly. Two years of clean bills of health, enough sex to keep his edge off, but he had not been with another man since Kyle.
He frowned, watching the young family that had moved in below him as they navigated the expensive-looking baby stroller across the street. The tall man put an arm around his wife’s shoulders as they waited for the light to change. She looked up, he kissed her, then they both looked down at the baby who’d started yelling when the sun hit his face. Something about the scene made his heart hurt. That pissed him off. Why didn’t he want more? Or did he want it and couldn’t admit it? He was nearly thirty-four fucking years old and utterly alone with no one to blame for that but himself.
The sounds of stirring from the bedroom brought him to his feet. One thing was certain, he mused as he stripped off his jeans and dove back under the sheet to her waiting body, he’d met his life goal on one level, but on most others he was still marking time, waiting for the librarian to call his book due.
****
Three Weeks Later
Rob was scheduled to work the Midwest Beer Fest, doing pairings with some of the bigger breweries with a few dishes both at the restaurant after the festival hours and at the event itself in the giant “Savor” tent. He’d been aggravated all week, ever since his brief and unsatisfactory conversation with Jack about Suzanne. He’d tried to call again, see how she was but kept getting voicemail. The one text he sent went unanswered. Just as well, he supposed. He’d cut them off for the last two years. Why would they think he wanted back in now? But the twitchy, quick-tempered feeling remained, and had resulted in a fairly epic argument with the hostess he’d been fucking, ending with her telling him he could take his emotionally constipated attitude and shove it up his ass.
He hadn’t really missed her, per se, which told him a lot about himself and his capacity for shallowness. He glared at himself in the rearview mirror before climbing out of his jeep and entering the crowd of beer drinkers. He did not like himself much lately. While he looked great on the outside, never healthier or more fit, he felt like shit on the inside, and didn’t know what he could do to fix it.
He did his midday gig in the food tent then wandered around, tasting and greeting some of his friends in the brewery business. It was always a fun group. He missed it. Letting a pleasant buzz settle in his head, and rebuffing a couple of admittedly hot but really drunk girls, he took a seat at one of the round tables to the side of the Michigan beer tent, not noticing at first that someone was slumped in a chair opposite him. When the guy sat up, Rob saw immediately that he was eye-rolling shitfaced drunk. And incredibly attractive. His body went on alert for the first time in ages as he observed the young man’s lean, fit torso, highlighted nicely by the soft looking black tee shirt.
The guy looked at him, made a vain attempt to focus. His eyes were the most amazing shade of emerald green Rob had ever seen. The sadness in them went straight to his gut. He moved to the chair one spot closer, putting a hand on the stranger’s strong looking arm. “Hey, you okay?” The guy flinched, glared at Rob who was startled to realize how young he must be.
“No. Thanks. I’m not.” He sat back and stared up at the darkening sky. “Go ‘way.” He tried to wave Rob off. Rob remained mesmerized by him somehow. The line of his jaw, covered with dark stubble begged for his touch. His shaggy dark blond hair fairly screamed for Rob’s fingers through it. He clenched his fists, cleared his throat and willed his body down from the lusty ledge. The kid was drunk and needed help and to sober up, not hit on by a horny older man.
“Listen,” Rob put a hand on his shoulder. The skin was hot under his tee shirt. He looked at Rob’s hand, then back into his eyes, making Rob’s breath catch in his throat. “I’m Rob. Why don’t you let me…”
The man leaned into him, giving Rob a whiff of beer, light cologne, and sunscreen. He put a hand on Rob’s thigh making him nearly jump out of his skin. Berating himself, he let the guy do it and moved closer. He’d never in his life picked up a man, drunk or otherwise, in a public place like this. He was both embarrassed and horny as hell, all at once. This young man, so near him right now, exuded a sort of needy vibe that struck him hard between the eyes. Rob was not a caretaker; never had been. He was too much of a loner to be that in tune to what others needed from him. But an odd, almost woozy sensation of pure desire to help this kid washed over Rob. He needed to get him somewhere safe to sleep off the drunk and get past the hurt; it almost suffocated Rob with its urgency.
The guy squinted up at him. “I’m Blake. And you…” he squeezed Rob’s leg, his face too close to Rob’s own for comfort. “You are…really tall.” He let go and lurched to his feet. Rob followed him around the back of the tent, helped him up after he puked on the grass and guided him to a nearby waiting taxi.
“Okay Blake. I’m Rob,” he crouched down on the sidewalk to be eye-to-eye marveling again at the deep green that met his gaze. “Where should I send you?”
Blake gripped his arm, sending a shock wave of energy through Rob’s entire body. Blake felt it too, let him go fast, staring at his own hand then up at Rob. “Uh, dunno. Someone else did hotel stuff. I’m…too…” Rob made a decision then; one he’d look back on and thank god for, but which made him doubt his sanity at the time. He pushed Blake’s floppy form across the back seat and climbed in, giving the taxi driver his home address. Blake leaned into him, making Rob shiver. What are you doing Frietag? Picking up boys at the beer fest now? Nice.
He shook his head, lifted his arm and put it around the young man’s shoulders, loving the perfect way he fit into his side. “Sorry.” Blake mumbled.
When they arrived at his building, he jostled Blake out and into the elevator, hating himself for how much he loved holding him up, loved the sensation of the man’s strong body in his arms. God, you are just sick. He stared at the two of them in the elevator door’s reflection.
“Thanks,” Blake mumbled, sounding more like “shlanks” before Rob lowered him to the large leather couch. Rob put a hand on Blake’s hair, touched his rough jaw, and acknowledged the loosening of the vise he’d had around his chest for the past year or two. Blake mumbled some more, rolled onto his side and started snoring. Rob pulled off his shoes and tried not to stare at the obvious physical perfection that hid under Blake’s faded jeans before covering him with a blanket.
Cut the shit, yo
u dirty old man. Let the kid sleep it off then point him wherever he needs to go. The end.
But Rob sat longer than he realized, watching Blake sleep.
Part II: Blake
Chapter One
Two Years Earlier
Blake bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, nervous energy coursing through him like a live wire. He tried hard to focus on the words coming from his new boss’ mouth, but all he heard was, “I did it. I did it. I did it,” like a mantra in his head. And he had.
Despite his father’s intense disapproval, he’d ditched his math/science track at the University of Michigan, packed up his truck and headed to Portland, Oregon. Enrolled in their brewing science program he’d graduated in a record three years. He’d come back to Ann Arbor to run his own brewery for the first time. His. He gripped his hands behind him, unable to keep the no-doubt shit-eating grin from his face. Evan Adams, owner of Big House Brewing Company looked up at him at one point as they talked about particulars of the staffing issues Blake needed to handle along with the general day-to-day operations for one of the fastest growing micros in the state and finally had grinned back.
Then he got serious again. “Listen, Blake, we are taking a bit of a risk with you. You’ve apprenticed for less than a year over at Jackson Brewing, you’re young…”
“But,” Blake interrupted, “you said yourself, I’m energetic and creative. You won’t regret this, Evan. I swear it.” He bounced again, feeling the taut muscles in his legs flex and relax. The other man sighed and rolled his shoulders.
“Well, tell you what, if you can keep this thing going for me, for us, we are in for a wild ride; I am sure of it. Now, let’s focus on this paperwork a second, can we?”
Blake nodded, and tried to do just that. They both looked up when the metal brewery door slammed shut.
“Suzanne!” Evan stood, held out his arms, and a slight, redheaded vision of beauty went into them for a brief moment before breaking away and turning to him. Blake blinked. Felt his heart do a weird speed up then slow down thing at the sight of the petite, gorgeous woman who stuck her hand out for him to take. Evan had to clear his throat before Blake realized he was required to meet her halfway on the politeness thing. He gulped, enveloped her small hand in his and had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from yanking her into a hug. Jesus but she was…perfect.
“Sorry, Blake, right? I’ve been out, um, sick, for the last week or so. Missed all the interview fun but it sounds like you are a done deal.” Evan slapped Blake on the back and laughed.
“This little firebrand, my friend, will become your worst nightmare very soon.” Blake stared at the man, then back into the dark greenish eyes of the woman dressed in a perfect cream-colored skirt, sleeveless shirt and high heels. He sensed his mouth opening and closing like a fish, or the village idiot, but no sounds would form.
“Oh, come on now Evan,” she batted her long lashes innocently and pouted her perfect cupid-bow lips. Blake’s knees nearly buckled. He coughed to cover up his gasp. “Poor guy. Let him get his sea legs before you sic me on him, okay?” She sashayed away, into the Tap Room, calling out to various staff members and accepting warm hugs of welcome-back as she passed through. Blake stared at her, then back at Evan, and realized both of his hands were clenched into tight fists. He took a breath and released them. Evan also watched the small form walk away, something resembling anger in his eyes.
Blake waited for Evan to remember he was still in the room. “So, ah, you didn’t mention a female brewer.” He needed to know more about her, now.
Evan started and looked back at him. “Oh, no that’s the marketing director. She’s the one who manages the sales staff and, sort of, you.”
Blake frowned. “Oh,” was the best he could utter. Smooth, Thornton. Very smooth, he grimaced at himself. Evan rallied and they finished their paperwork. Blake started on the task of getting the chaos that was the operation of Big House Brewing in order. His brain buzzed for hours with the sheer amazement that he’d done this and with a burning need to catch sight of Suzanne once more.
Finally, about two hours after he’d managed to work himself into a sweat moving pallets of bottles and packaging materials around so he could begin brewing the next morning, he wiped his brow, looked up and saw her. She sat on one of the tall stools at the long worktable that held a couple of laptop computers and the usual detritus of brewing: Order forms, hops samples, invoices, and bottles of beer for testing. Blake took a step back into the shadows created by the towering stacks of boxes and observed her for a minute.
She was on the phone, laughing, then serious. He watched as she then put the phone down softly on the stainless steel surface. She sighed, looked up at the ceiling and put her face in her hands. Blake stared intently at her, and realized her shoulders were shaking. She was crying. The natural “fixer” in him rose to the surface but he wrestled it away, knowing he had no business stalking her from the shadows. After a minute or two she wiped her eyes, ran her fingers through her long red hair and stood. The way she squared her shoulders made Blake’s heart clench for some reason. He had no explanation, but an absolute need to help her roared through him. How he knew she required his help was also a mystery, but his entire body buzzed to be near her, to comfort, and to touch.
When she leaned over to adjust her shoe, he had entirely different physical reaction. He groaned to himself and took another step back between the boxes willing his cock down. He concentrated on calculating the specific gravity of his first batch of Big House Brewing lager and tried to get himself under control. By the time he stepped back out, sweat still beaded his face, and he nearly plowed right into her turning the corner.
“Whoa there handsome. Watch where you’re going.” Her voice was soft, but firm. He gripped her arm, then let go, embarrassed by his need to touch her.
Blake was no fool nor was he blind to the gigantic diamond on her left ring finger. He straightened up, and grinned, pulling off his baseball cap and running a hand through his close-cropped hair. She stepped back, crossed her arms and cocked her hip shooting him a completely unreadable look.
“Damn you really are cute. Gonna get interesting around here. Gotta dash, but I’ll see you tomorrow morning, seven a.m. First official sales meeting with our new brewer. Eat your Wheaties, big boy.” He stared as she turned on one high heel and departed. A knee jerk combination of anger, pride and raw lust made him shiver. He worked until past nine p.m. emerging into the Tap Room to meet the staff and have a few beers before heading home.
****
Within weeks Blake realized something. Suzanne was indeed making his new life as head brewer for Big House a living hell. Mainly it was because her sales team was fantastic at their jobs, but also because she was so infernally bossy. He spent the small percentage of time he wasn’t fantasizing about fisting his hands in her long red hair and kissing her smart god damned mouth so hard she’d whimper, utterly furious at her. It made for interesting times indeed, just as she had predicted. One thing he’d come to learn about Suzanne, she loved being right.
His sister had teased him relentlessly. “Oh, it’s cute. You’re like in middle school with a crush on the teacher.”
“Shut it,” he’d glared at her over wine one night on her small back porch. Sara had saved him when he’d returned to Ann Arbor with nothing but the clothes on his back and a degree worth nothing, at least according to their father. He probably could have saved the “oh by the way Dad I’m bisexual” convo for a different moment but had taken a perverse pleasure in the way Matthew Thornton’s face had reddened so alarmingly that his mother had made him leave the house. He had moved into Sara’s small condo and taken over the second bedroom with promises of moving out as soon as he had about six months’ worth of salary in the bank.
She had just quit her stable and lucrative job with a major pharmaceutical company to take up life selling houses at one hundred percent commission. Luckily, she had been their father’s perfect, do-no-wrong d
aughter, so he’d bankrolled her for a while until her new career had shot into the stratosphere like everything she ever did. It made Blake’s teeth ache with frustration, but since he’d been Sara’s champion and defender her whole life it also on some bizarre level, soothed him. The conversation they’d had the night before ghosted through his head.
“He’d help, you know, if you would ask him.” She defended their indefensible father.
“Not fucking likely,” had been his answer. “You do know ‘real estate agent’ ranks just below ‘used car salesman’ and barely above ‘lawyer.’ Why in the hell would you do it? You made great money selling drugs.”
She’d shrugged. “I wanted to stay close to home. I hated all the stupid travel with the drug thing. Besides, I call my own hours this way. I’m master of my own destiny, as it were.”
He’d scoffed but smiled at her. They’d been close their whole lives, weathering the various storms that made up their parents’ relationship. Separated by a mere eighteen months, they looked enough alike to be twins. He worried about her, too much probably, but it was part and parcel of loving Sara. She hurt, so did he. And now that he was foundering, she’d stepped up. “I’m sorry.” She had patted his hand last night. “I don’t mean to make fun of it. Besides what happened to Jeremy?” She named the man he’d lived with the last year of school on the west coast. Blake shrugged.
“We drifted apart. Actually he drifted straight into one our professor’s beds. They are still together, I think.” He sipped, ignoring the niggling voice in his head that reminded him of how hard it had been to accept that Jeremy was, most likely, a straight man just experimenting. It had been his first true relationship with a guy and had ended badly. “Whatever.”
****
Blake glared at Suzanne as she sat across from him during their weekly seven a.m. sales and production meeting. She met his stare, her odd-colored eyes dark with intensity and anger—at him. “What the fuck do you mean you are gonna run out of the amber?” The rest of the team shifted awkwardly. Blake’s ears got hot.
